


Should Try It Sometime

by oleanderedits



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2018-11-01 13:56:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderedits/pseuds/oleanderedits
Summary: A series of unrelated writing prompt fills just to get me back in the habit of writing.





	1. Good With Kids

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "The ladies love a guy who's good with kids."

"Okay," Daryl answered, shooting Jesus a confused look that caused the other man's grin to widen. In the next moment he was dropping his head and chuckling just hard enough for his shoulders to shake. Daryl's lips pressed together in a frown and he huffed. He never did like it when it felt like he was being laughed at. More so when it came from a friend.

Jesus caught the glare and shut his mouth, stopping the laughter completely and followed it up with a soft, "Sorry."

Daryl stared for long second before snorting in that dismissive way of his. "Yeah, whatever. Wha'da'ya want anyway? Maggie need me?"

"No," Jesus shook his head. Then shook it again to get the stray hair out of his eyes. "Just hadn't seen you for a while and didn't know if you'd headed out for that hunt you were talking about early or not. Figured I'd find out."

"Nah, I ain't leaving 'til mornin'," he said, eyes staying on Judith as he answered. She had one of her red Dixie cups in hand and was waving it around while she babbled at Daryl. He had her in his arms, head leaning back every so often to accommodate the cup without letting it hit him.

"Okay. Then I'll see you later," Jesus said slowly, his eyes lingering on Daryl as he turned to leave. When he had the door open and was halfway through, he glanced back and added in as nonchalant a manner as he possibly could: "For the record, I love a guy that's good with kids, too."

The glance Daryl shot him from under his bangs was far from confused as he pressed his lips together and answered softly, "Okay."


	2. My Bed Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You can't banish me! This is my bed, too!"

"Well, too bad. Just did," Maggie replied, voice mild and damn near deadpan. Not quite enough to hide the amusement in her tone, though, as she set her chin into her hand and stared at Jesus expectantly.

There weren't many places to sit at the moment. The trailer was packed with everyone needing to be there for the meeting. Maggie getting his bed at night didn't bother him so much, but when it came to places to sit, he didn't see what the big deal about squeezing in with her was. He could cross his legs, tuck his feet under, and she'd still have... well, enough room for her and Enid, if not exactly anywhere near the 'plenty' spectrum.

"Couch has space," she continued, nodding to it before lifting her head and reaching out past Jesus to take Michonne's hand and pull her in to sit in the spot Jesus had been planning to take.

"Couch has space," Jesus repeated, doing a much better job of deadpanning the line. 

Maggie smiled and nodded. So far only Enid and Michonne were paying attention to this quiet little exchange, but both of them were fighting to hide smiles of their own. Not very hard, mind, but they were putting more effort into it.

And of course the couch had room. Daryl was on the couch. Sitting at one end, talking to Rick, going over some details quietly while they waited for everyone else to get situated before starting the meet. On the other end was Tara, legs curled up under her as she leaned over the armrest and pointed to spots on the map Andy was holding. Both residents too caught up in their own issues to notice Maggie's obvious little ploy.

Maggie nodded toward it again, "Should get there 'fore someone takes the spot. It's gonna be standing room only for everyone else in a little bit."

It wasn't that Jesus didn't like the idea of squeezing in next to Daryl (and Tara was always good company on that end of things), but he preferred not to have such thing set up for him. And she'd been doing these sorts of little pushes ever since she'd figured it out. How and when she had, he couldn't say. Just that it was growing more and more obvious and apparently Enid and Michonne were now in on it. Not that he was really mad at them, or anything like that, either. At worst it was a mild frustration. It wasn't like they were trying to set him up on a date. Just get him to sit next to Daryl in a very tight space.

Eventually he rolled his eyes and shook his head as he turned to walk over. Neither Tara nor Daryl reacted like there was anything weird about him joining them. Both just scooted a bit to their respective sides to make room. Tara said hey before going back to the map. Daryl didn't even do that much. He seemed pretty engrossed with his conversation with Rick.

Jesus shot Maggie a 'what was the point of this again?' look. She returned it with a satisfied smirk as Michonne called out to Rick, drew his attention away, and Daryl leaned back. His arm going up and over Jesus's head to rest on the back of the couch right behind the man. He crossed his legs and while he did turn his body into the corner, when the position forced his knees to knock into Paul's, he didn't bother moving them away or trying to. Just let himself rest comfortably where he was, eyes on the meeting. 

It was nice, actually, but the nicer part came when Jesus finally relaxed enough to lean back into the couch as his focus turned to the more serious matters and Daryl's thumb started tracing light arcs across his back. Idly, almost reflexively. Jesus spared a glance to the side and caught Daryl's eyes before they could dart away. Neither said anything, but Daryl didn't stop and Jesus didn't ask him to.


	3. Safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt, just an idea I had

Daryl slept on his back. It was how he'd always slept for as long as he could remember. Meant he could get swing out of bed easier or sit up when a loud noise woke him and be ready to move. To run. To hide. He wasn't always fast enough, but it was faster than sleeping curled up in a ball or on his stomach. Sometimes when he passed out, he'd pass out on his front, but when he chose to lie down, it was on his back.

Jesus didn't know any of the reasons for it, he simply noticed it as a quirk of Daryl's. The man would alternate with him day to day for which of them took the couch and which the floor. Daryl sometimes tried to force the issue by getting into the trailer late so Jesus would have to take the couch or be a walking hazard for anyone else up and about before Daryl got in for the night. Jesus caught on to that pretty quickly and let it happen just enough that Daryl didn't get too belligerent with it. The point was, however, that when Daryl finally went to sleep, he slept on his back.

And _that_ meant that when he chose to lay down for the sake of resting, he usually laid down on his back.

Jesus caught him that way one day. On his back. On the bed. Near the foot. Legs hanging off the side, and one hand on his stomach. Eyes focusing on the ceiling. He knew Jesus was there, of course. He'd glanced over when the door opened just to see who it was. But he was comfortable enough - and tired enough from the day's labor - that he stayed put and didn't sit up.

Jesus moved to join him. He climbed onto it at the other side and laid out on his stomach, legs folded so his feet were in the air and his toes banged lightly against the wall at the 'head' of the bed. His arms crossed under his chin and he watched Daryl for a long, lazy moment before greeting him with a tired, "Hey."

"Hey," Daryl returned, sounding just as exhausted.

Jesus sighed loudly and reached out to brush some dirt off the shirt he'd loaned Daryl a long enough time ago it might as well belong to the other man. Daryl's eyes followed his hand as best they could, but he didn't try to push the touch away. Even after Jesus stopped brushing at the cloth and let his fingers just lay there. His own eyes unfocused, mind stuck in heavier thoughts.

Thoughts he was pulled from when Daryl's fingers moved from his stomach to reach up and rest on top of Jesus' hand. His thumb tapping lightly while his gaze returned to the ceiling. Comfortable in a way that Jesus hadn't felt for far too long. It made him smile. At the sight of their hands together. At Daryl himself.

Jesus scooted forward, drawing Daryl's attention in the form of a curious side-eye. He got close enough that he could push himself up on his elbows and lean forward to hover his face over Daryl's. The hand on his chest slid upward to his neck. Tucked under his chin and ran backwards to hook behind his neck. Turn his head toward him. Daryl's hand was left to grip Jesus' sleeve in a light hold while their eyes met.

It wasn't a planned kiss. Jesus just had the thought that he'd really like to kiss Daryl right that moment. The atmosphere was comfortable and Daryl was relaxed. Not pulling away from him or acting shy. Perhaps because they were alone. Whatever the reason, he wasn't trying to get out of Jesus' hold. Just stayed there. Trusting him.

Jesus leaned down and pressed his lips to Daryl's. Light and gentle. A little tentative. Testing the waters. They'd kissed many times before, but it was always uncertain how Daryl would respond. If he'd be up for it. Ready. Or if he'd pull back and push away. The affection and contact too much for him to handle.

This time, Daryl stilled, his grip on Jesus' sleeve tightening as he sucked in a sharp breath and held it. It took a second or two before he relaxed, though his eyes closed almost immediately. He knew what Jesus had intended before Jesus did. He'd gotten himself ready for it. Sometimes it was overwhelming. Suffocating. Others it was welcoming. And he didn't know which it would be until their lips met. This time it was the latter. A small spike in his heart rate, but nothing that didn't pass quickly enough.

Jesus took it slow. Lazy. Pressed their lips together gently and pulled back just enough to call it a kiss before going back down. His thumb rubbing soft, slow circles into Daryl's cheek. Held there, against the man's neck, by Daryl's other hand. It had slipped out from under his head at some point and came to rest on Jesus' wrist. Held him there with a firm grip. Silently telling him he might be nervous, but he didn't want Jesus to pull away just yet.

So he didn't.

Neither of them knew how much time had passed by time they stopped. It was all slow and languid. No real movement. But when Jesus felt his eyes growing heavy, he took another deep breath and pushed up. Just far enough he could stretch his back. Then lay back down with his head on Daryl's shoulder and his arm still wrapped loosely around Daryl's neck. Daryl still held his sleeve with one hand and his wrist with the other. He yawned and grumbled about it being contagious. But he didn't try to move away. He just nuzzled his nose into the man's hair and let himself fall asleep.

He didn't need to be ready to run anymore. There were days he forgot that, but there were days like today, too. Where he could relax and the demons that haunted him couldn't get to him. Not with his family there for him. Not with Jesus protecting his heart.


	4. All Dolled Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Character A is highkey crushing on Character B, an employee at a makeup store. Gathering up their courage, Character A asks if Character B could help them with learning how to do their eye shadow, and then proceeds to try not to faint while Character B hovers really close to Character A’s face. Character B thinks that this is hilarious and definitely takes a lot longer to do Character A’s makeup than necessary.

"That guy is here again," Charlotte - whose actual name was Cindy but decided it wasn't posh enough for her job - murmured to alert Jesus without him having to turn around. She kept her eyes on her co-worker and her smile in place like the fine actor every retail employee who wanted to keep their job past the first six months had to become. She was leaning on her elbows on the counter while Jesus leaned on it from the opposite side. They'd been engaged in light conversation while waiting for customers. Just engrossed enough not to be bored, but not so wrapped up in it that they couldn't keep an eye out for customers.

Jesus gave a light laugh like she'd told a funny joke and stretched a hand out to turn one of the counter mirrors so he could see who she meant. He leaned forward and brushed at his hair to make sure it didn't look like he was watching the other man while very much watching him. Another laugh, genuine this time, followed, "Oh, him. Yeah. Pretty sure he's browsed the men's watches and cologne four times this week. Up two days from the last three."

Charlotte leaned her chin on her hand and grinned at Jesus, glancing into the mirror to get a better look at the guy without being obvious, "Oh yeah? I've only seen him once."

"That's cause he's into me and not you."

"You can have him," she snorted and rolled her eyes. "One less old man being into me makes the world a better place."

Jesus straightened up and elbowed her, "He's not old. Can't be more than forty."

"To me, that is old." When Jesus gasped in mock offense, she added, "In fifteen years, when I'm your age, I'll reconsider. But until then: he's  _old_."

Their laughter was interrupted a second later by a throat being cleared quietly and Charlotte straightening up, professional smile plastered on like the finest painting, "Yes? How can we help you today, sir?"

Jesus turned around to find the man they'd been talking about standing just a few feet from them. He was only a couple inches taller, with darker hair that had probably been brushed out of his eyes sometime that morning but hadn't been touched since. Just judging from the way it was laying, hanging in front of one eye enough to obscure and darken the area around it and the windshrewn wisps that stuck out from the rest. He was dressed in a clean jean jacket and dark denim pants. His shirt a checkered one in dark blues and black. Work boots that looked like he'd kicked mud off of them before coming inside the store. All around, he didn't really fit the usual clientele. But that was okay. Jesus figured he wasn't really here to shop. Not with how often he'd show up and hover near to the make-up department while Jesus was on shift before ducking out after spending a little too long browsing without intention to buy.

But as Jesus wasn't allowed to flirt or fraternize while on the clock, nor stray from his department without very good reason, he hadn't ever left to approach the fine piece of eye-candy. It had actually been pretty fun to watch the man fight his internal struggle with himself over approaching or not. At least, it had been after Jesus had figured out he wasn't there to try and case the joint or attempt to lift product. Something he'd initially thought because 'too nervous to approach and flirt' looked an awful lot like 'trying not to get caught pocketing stuff'. It was the around the eighth time Jesus had spied the man in the store, near his department but not straying close enough to it, that a light bulb had gone off and he'd recognized what was going on with him. In large part due to their eyes meeting and the man turning a bright shade of red as he ducked his head and tried to act like he hadn't been staring at Jesus' ass like he'd just crossed the desert and was dying of thirst.

That had been a month ago. 

And now, finally, the man had gotten up the courage to walk up to him. 

...and ask for help doing his eye make up.

Charlotte was left a little speechless at that. Jesus wasn't that far behind her. The man was obvious grasping to find a reason for having walked up there. An excuse. And he'd clearly latched onto the first thing he'd managed to get his hands on: the sampler of eye shadow inches from where he stood.

Before he could take it back, Jesus straightened up and gestured at one of the stools, "Absolutely. Go ahead and sit and I'll show you the basics."

The man hesitated a moment, teeth chewing hard at his bottom lip. Then he grunted softly and moved to sit down. His shoulders were hunched in and his head down. The embarrassment he was feeling was palpable. Charlotte made sure to keep her head turned away from him as she gave Jesus a 'have fun' look and moved down the counter to watch for other customers. Jesus returned her look with a silent 'I certainly will' while he gathered the product he needed.

"Is that the color you're interested in, or just the brand?" he asked the man, same as he would for any other customer who seemed new to the whole make-up thing. He received a shrug in response. So he laughed it off with a nod, "Not sure, huh? That's okay. I can pick something out to match your skin tone and go for a more natural look, or use this one. Whichever you'd prefer."

This time he got a quiet, "Your choice." in a voice that sounded a bit gruff and roughened by time and circumstance. And probably alcohol or cigarettes. Jesus was enough of a bar fly to recognize that much. And it wasn't unpleasant in the least. 

"Alright, then, lets go with something a little more natural," he said, still smiling and moving to pull out some browns and coppers that he thought would look good. Once the brushes were laid out next to the product, he pulled a mirror to sit directly in front of the man and started getting the foundation ready.

Jesus stepped into the man's space and murmured, "You'll need to look up."

It was at this point he expected the man to bolt. It wouldn't be the first time. Jesus practically used it at a litmus test for the sort of cagey men who were clearly into him but not enough to deal with the fact that he was a make-up artist. So far no only two had made it past the whole getting make-up applied stage, and only one of those to the 'so now that I've let you put lipstick on me, why don't we go back to my place and take it off' stage. A shame because many times, the men were very attractive and people he'd have liked to get to know better. But he'd been burned a few too many times by boyfriends thinking he was giving into the stereotypes just because he was good at a job that paid him well. And if he liked it, well, so what? 

In the long run, it was better to scare them off now after a few weeks of enjoying the view than go any further. Kept his heart intact.

Mister silent and nervous stayed with shoulders tucked in and head down for what felt like several minutes. Jesus stayed right where he was, smiling pleasantly. Waiting. 

He was given a pleasant surprise when the man looked up. Blinking and keeping his eyes averted to the side, but head up where Jesus could easily get at his face. He felt his grin widen and his heartbeat speed up for a second as he took in the sight of intense blue eyes just a few shades darker than his own and as bright as the mid-day sky. His mouth dropped open for a moment before he sucked in a breath and turned around, "You know what, we're going to use a different color. I didn't realize your eyes were blue. They looked a lot darker before. Sorry."

"S'okay," the man replied, keeping his head up now that it was there. Adam's apple bouncing a little too often with each nervous swallow.

Jesus set the new colors down and got them arranged before taking up his brush and moving in. The guy's face was inches from his now. Every wrinkle and line, every blotch easy to see. He kept looking away from Jesus' face but didn't have much choice in what else to look at. It was pretty cute, how hard he was trying to be comfortable. 

"You can shut your eyes now," he said and the man relaxed with instant relief as his eyes closed. A little too tightly, but that was pretty normal. "Not so tight, try to relax. Um, maybe raise your eyebrows to stretch the skin. Yeah, like that."

He started to gently - and slowly - apply the base, explaining the steps as he went. Each one he went far slower than he needed to. Watching the man's reactions, the small tics in his face and how tightly his fingers curled into his jeans, the number of times he swallowed. Every step got the man more and more flustered, more and more looking like a bird half a heartbeat from flying off. And yet, he stayed. He responded to Jesus' idle talk and instructions with the same soft murmur of 'mmhmm' and 'okay'. Paying attention, but only just. Forcing himself to get through this now that he'd agreed to it. It almost made Paul feel bad about it.   


Almost.

What should have taken him ten minutes, full spheal, took him thirty. The man looked incredible afterwards. Would probably look great in something a little heavier along the waterline. Smokier, too. Maybe some lipstick and a little rouge, but nothing that would take away from his already well defined features.

Jesus backed off and grabbed the mirror. Held it up so the man could see. One last chance to have a freak out and run for the hills if he was going to do it. 

"What do you think? Do you like the color? Would you prefer something bolder?" He asked, sounding as professional as possible while he waited for the reaction.

The man stared at his reflection for a long time, one hand drifting up from his leg so he could chew on the thumb while he took in the sight. Eventually he nodded and grunted, "S'okay. Don't look like I got a black eye, anyway."

The absurdity of the statement - which wasn't really that absurd when he thought about it later - caught him off guard enough that Jesus had to laugh. He let himself do so and set down the mirror, then started closing up the product, "Well, that's good. So do you want to take any of this home with you? If you're still trying to figure out what will work best for you, we can start you with a smaller package that doesn't have everything we used today, but will have the essentials."

"Nah, I'll take it all," he replied and slid off the stool. His arms crossed over his chest, fingers curling into his coat tightly. "Whatever you used just now."

Jesus' eyebrows rose in surprise. Not that he bought something, but that he was buying everything. A sale was a sale, though and he'd make good commission off it. It came out to over a hundred and the man seemed a little surprised at the price, but didn't hesitate to pull his wallet out and hand over his credit card.

"Daryl Dixon," Jesus read aloud before swiping it, smiling at the man. "I'll need to see some I.D."

Daryl pulled that out, too, and Jesus took note of his address. A good ten miles further than he really needed to come if he was just getting overpriced beauty products.

"You always come this far out of your way to buy make-up, Mister Dixon?"

"Daryl's fine," he answered, blushing a little and ducking his head as he put his cards and wallet away. "I uh..." And another shrug. 

Jesus handed over the bag and a business card, "My name is Paul Rovia and if you want to come back for more, I'd be happy to be your beauty consultant in the future."

Daryl reached out to take the card, which Paul pulled away before he could grab, forcing the man to look up at him in confusion. He smiled and leaned forward, held out the card again, and spoke in a low tone not meant to carry, "My name _is_ Paul, but my friends call me Jesus. My cell number's on the back. Which, I'm assuming, is what you really came here for."

The man snatched the card away, shoulders tensing as he flipped it over, then shoved it in his pocket. He looked Jesus up and down, jaw working and eyes blinking in thought. When his words came to him, he kept his voice low as well, sounding a little hurt and completely confused, "If you knew I was wanting that, why'd you sell me the make-up?"

"If you wanted that, why didn't you just ask instead of buying it?" Jesus countered, hand on his chin and eyes wide and innocent looking. "You've certainly had enough opportunities. Four times this week alone."

Daryl flushed and turned his body away, head and eyes darting nervously around to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear. Then he muttered a gruff, "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Jesus said, straightening up. "You just got me a nice commission. Makes up for at least two of your visits while you were ogling my ass. You can make up for the rest by taking me out on Monday. It's my next day off."

This time Daryl's shy 'okay' was said with a small, hopeful smile.


	5. Ain't On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "It wasn't your fault."

Daryl’s snort, loud and dismissive, interrupted Jesus as he explained what happened during the run turned disaster. The other man’s eyes rolled upward, exasperated, as his arms dropped. It wasn’t enough that he messed up, but now Daryl was laughing at him?

“What?” He asked, harsh and in no mood to be made fun of.

Daryl squinted at him then snorted again and shook his head, “The dead gettin’ the jump on us. Weren’t yer fault.”

Jesus blinked a couple times, brow furrowing, as he tried to make heads or tails of the statement and how it fit in with his mental narrative of Daryl making fun of him. It didn’t seem to be a joke, however. Daryl wasn’t actually laughing and no one else was as they looked to Daryl, clearly waiting for him to explain.

Daryl shrugged, arms crossing as he leaned against the wall, weight supported by one shoulder, “Weren’t no way of knowin’ there'd be that many holed up in there. Was like they were piled up while they was still dead, ‘fore they got back up.”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothin’. You listened like ya should’ve, heard a little moanin’. We all got ready for three or four. No way any of us could’ve known there some sicko decided he needed ta play clown car with the damn broom closet.”

Paul sighed and crossed his own arms, looking away, voice soft, “Carly died. Daryl.”

Daryl nodded and sucked in a breath, “Yeah. I know. Ain’t sayin’ not to be sorry for it. But it ain’t on you.”


End file.
